M McDonald - March Into Hell

Jim picked up his mug of coffee and moved out to the living room area. "Listen, Mark. We'll find him. Plenty of people are working on this. Not only because of what happened to you, but because of the similarities between what happened to Judy Medea and the other young woman who was killed before she could testify. He's created a pattern, and now we can get him."

"Here's the good news. A tip came in from an informant in Mexico who says he talked to Kern, or at least a guy claiming credit for what happened to you. He reported that Kern was trying to arrange a shipping pipeline of drugs to finance his cult's activities. He thinks everything is arranged, but the informant says that his bosses want nothing to do with him. It seems that despite their violence, they are religious folks."

Mark raised an eyebrow and gave a snort of disbelief.

Jim chuckled. "Yes, I realize the irony of that. Despite their violent ways, they go to church on Sundays."

He set his mug on the coffee table, sat on the chair, and began ticking off the rest of the information. "From Mexico, we know he stayed with a woman in El Paso. Her name turned up in an old file. We sent a man to the house, but it turns out we just missed him. We are getting closer, Mark. Not only that, but Medea might still be around here and just wasn't home. CPD will be keeping an eye on the apartment and if she shows up, she'll be arrested."

"And in the meantime? What if they don't show up for months? Do I live my life watching over my shoulder?"

Jim had no answer as he sat in the chair beside the couch. Kern's history had shown that he was never in a hurry to exact revenge. He'd never even been tied to any of the deaths of witnesses. It was only now that everything was being scrutinized that the grand puzzle of Kern's scheme was coming into focus. He sipped the coffee, trying to delay the worst part, that he hadn't even passed on the bad news yet. "There's more. According to the police, the cult has swelled to triple its previous size."

That got Mark's attention. His eyes snapped to Jim's. "Because of all the media?"

Jim nodded. "I'm afraid so. The publicity has flushed all the weirdos, zealots and sickos out from under the rocks they live under when they aren't acting like crazy fools."

Mark's mouth set in a hard line. He stood and for a few seconds, he remained motionless. Finally, he turned to Jim and said, "You know what? I'm not going to spend my life hiding in here." He swept his arm in an arc to encompass the loft. "If Kern's going to get me, I might as well meet him halfway." With that he crossed to the other end of the loft and grabbed his camera off his night table. He opened the drawer and pulled out a roll of film.

Jim rose and stepped in front of Mark as the other man approached the door. It was going to be hell trying to protect a moving target, but he couldn't officially keep Mark confined to his home. "Hold up. Where are you going?"

Mark slung the camera's strap over his neck, wincing as it settled, but the hard resolve in his eyes didn't waver. "I'm going out to take some photos. You have a problem with that?" He brushed past Jim and grabbed his jacket off the stand beside the door. With his left arm in a sling, he had to fumble with the coat to get it over his confined arm and slide his good arm into the sleeve.

Jim watched, keeping his urge to help under tight control as Mark managed to get his left hand out far enough to hang onto the edge of the coat to hold it steady so he could zip it. "I thought that camera didn't work?"

Mark tugged on the zipper and then arranged the camera strap on the outside of his coat collar. "It works just fine." He paused and the muscle in his jaw jumped. "It just doesn't give me future photos."

"You knew that's what I meant."

Eyes narrowed, Mark glanced at him. "Yeah, but I thought you wanted confirmation. You want the truth? Here it is. I screwed up and I lost my ability. I'm not even sure why you're still hanging out around here. What value am I to you now?"

Mark's question hit him like a brick to the face. As much as he hated to admit it, without the possibility of foretelling of a future terrorist attack, Mark Taylor had no value as an asset. "First of all, whether you get the ability back or not, no way do I believe that you screwed up. What you've already done as part of the Wrigley Field plot cements your place as an American hero-"

Mark scoffed before Jim could finish. "Cut the crap, Jim. I'm just a regular guy, which is exactly what I wished for." He opened the door and motioned with his chin for Jim to proceed him.

Jim shrugged and said with mild sarcasm, "Despite your amazing abilities, you were only able to change the future, Mark, not the past. You saved a bunch of people, and in my book, that's a hero. You can't change that no matter what happens from here on out."

The door clicked shut behind him and Jim measured his pace to allow Mark to keep up. Steps seemed to be harder for him to navigate than flat ground, and Jim slowed even more.

"I'm glad I'm done with it." Mark released the handrail long enough to point towards the door at the bottom of the steps. "Now if you could just tell all those folks hanging out by my door that the freak show is over, I'll be eternally grateful."

Despite Mark's attempt to act like he didn't care, Jim could hear the pain in his voice. The guy was torn and Jim suspected that Mark didn't want to stop saving people, he just wanted to do it completely anonymously. He was at home behind the camera, not in front of the lens. Being a hero brought the risk of too much attention and that went against Mark's natural inclination to make others look good and just record history, not make it.

Jim nodded. "I'll be glad to clear the way for you."

Mark tried to ignore the crowd as he followed closely behind Jim, but when a woman thrust her baby at him, he reacted on instinct, cradling the baby girl with his good hand an instant before pushing her gently back into her mother's arms. "Ma'am. Please take her. I don't want her to get hurt."

The woman took her back, tears pouring down her face as she turned to others behind her and shouted, "Did you hear that? He said he didn't want her to get hurt! That means my baby's heart will be fixed!"

Mark stopped, intending to correct the woman's assumption, but Jim turned and edged between the woman and Mark and with a hand to Mark's back urged him forward and said, "Don't bother. Let her believe what she wants."

"But she thinks I fixed the baby's heart. I can't let her believe that."

"You have no control over it, unfortunately. What you can control is getting your ass into my car so I can get you the hell out of here."

Mark hesitated. "I was going to take the "L" or maybe a cab." The doctor hadn't cleared him to drive yet, but he hoped he'd get the okay in a week when he went back for a follow-up.

"Impossible. You'll be mobbed before you reach it. Just get in the damn car, Taylor." Jim opened the door for him.

As the crowd surged towards him after the woman's pronouncement, Mark didn't need any more urging. He flinched when a hand reached for his head, but the fingers only brushed his hair before he ducked into the car.

Feeling like a fish in bowl, Mark kept his eyes forward as people pushed against his window. Jim slipped in his side and started the car, pulling away fast enough that the people had to jump back.

"Shit, Jim! You almost ran a few of them over." Mark turned to look behind them to make sure no bodies lay in the road.

"I didn't come close, but it would serve them right, the imbeciles." Jim looked in the rear view mirror, his brow furrowed in concern, and Mark wasn't fooled. It had been close. Damn close.

Mark settled into the seat and asked, "Where are we going?"